Shirley Murphy - Cat Fear No Evil

"The man we saw this morning," she told the officers, "the man who broke into our RV, he surely looked like that waiter. Clarkman died two weeks ago, while serving at a gallery opening. Kate says that would describe, as well, the man who followed her.

"We met Sammy in Russian River a few months ago, when he was waiting tables at the hotel. Then in Molena Point we saw him at Jolly's Deli. Well, he helped cater the exhibit of a friend of ours there. He died while serving drinks, just fell over dead. The coroner said from a days-old blow to the head. He looked enough like the man who stole our RV to be his brother."

Officer Maconachy said, "Can you tell me the date of the opening?"

Lucinda thought a minute. "October twenty-fourth. A Sunday night."

He watched her thoughtfully. "Do you know anything about Clarkman, how long he lived in Russian River, or in Molena Point?"

"No, I'm sorry. Nor do I know what took him away from Russian River."

"Do you know if he ever lived here in the city?"

"He didn't mention living here. I don't remember that he mentioned San Francisco at all."

Maconachy rose. "After you've met your friend, would you come down to the station and talk with the detective who's been in touch with Mendocino County? He'll want to hear what you have to say."

As the officers headed away, and the Greenlaws stepped to the desk to cancel their reservation, just a few miles south Clyde Damen approached the city driving a borrowed Cadillac sedan that was heavier and thus safer on the road than his antique roadster. On the seat beside him, Joe Grey stood with his paws on the dash, looking out at the approaching city with deep interest.

The time was 9:30, the morning sun burning off the last of the valley fog as Clyde and Joe Grey approached San Francisco. They had left the house at 7:30. The Cadillac still smelled new though it was a year old, a trade-in that Clyde had borrowed from the dealership with which his automotive shop shared space. A car more reliable on the freeway at high speed than Clyde's dozen vintage antiques, most of which were tucked away in the back garage awaiting Clyde's further attention in therapeutic engine mechanics, body smoothing, and, ultimately, cosmetic detailing and bright new paint. The sun, rising ahead of them, drenched the San Francisco skyline, offering, to Joe Grey, a far more inviting view of the city than the dim, garbage-strewn alleys of his kittenhood.

Peering out, Joe thought about the Greenlaws turning up alive, about Kate's trashed apartment, and about Marlin Dorriss's various enterprises. If these matters were connected, the thread that bound them was tangled enough to give anyone a headache. Quietly he glanced at Clyde-his housemate was in a better mood since he'd downed some caffeine; in San Jose they'd made a pit stop, picking up a cup of coffee, a cinnamon bun, and, for Joe, a quarter-pounder, hold the pickles and lettuce. Joe had taken care of his own pit stop under a tree behind the fast food emporium while Clyde kept an eye out for dogs, and they were on the road again. Their argument this early morning over whether Joe should accompany him had been stressful for them both.

Clyde said the San Francisco streets were dangerous for a cat. Had pointed out that Joe hadn't survived those streets very well as a young cat, that Clyde had rescued him from the gutter, half dead. Joe said he'd gotten along just fine until his tail got broken, and that on this present junket he did not expect to be running the city's back streets and alleys.

"You damn near died in that gutter."

"I'm not going back to the gutter."

Clyde had maintained there was nothing Joe could do in San Francisco to help Kate. Joe reminded him that Azrael was there harassing Kate and that Clyde, despite his many talents, was not skilled at getting up the sides of buildings or slipping through cat-size openings to chase a surly tomcat. But the fact remained that Clyde was deeply concerned about Kate. Joe watched his housemate with interest. His sense was that, no matter how much Clyde was put off by Kate's unusual feline talents, no matter how she had distanced herself from him romantically, they needed each other very much as friends.

The two went back a long way. They had been good friends while Kate and Jimmie were married. The three were often together, though even then Clyde and Kate seemed close, laughing and having fun together and enjoying Clyde's various pets, while Jimmie hated cats and had always seemed the odd man out. Jimmie had often been sarcastic and patronizing to Kate, and that hadn't gone down well with Clyde.

It seemed to Joe that, when the beginning romance between Clyde and Kate went so quickly awry, the feelings that remained had slowly mellowed into a deep and needful friendship. And that was nice. Friendship between two of opposite sexes, without the need to crawl into bed, was one of the values of human civility and intelligence that Joe Grey had come to admire.

Joe did not reveal to Clyde his real reason for demanding to accompany him to the city, and that had deepened their early morning conflict. And of course Clyde had said, "What about Dulcie and the kit? Don't you think they'll be mad as hell when they find out we ran off to San Francisco without them? With all Dulcie's dreams of spending a weekend at the St. Francis? Of shopping at Saks and I. Magnin? As Dulcie would put it, like a grand human lady?"

"So I'll buy them a present from Magnin," Joe had said irritably, and that had been the end of the matter. Clyde had only glared at him, so annoyed himself that he'd refused to call Kate to tell her he was on the way. He said she'd only fuss at him.

But now, as they pulled into the city and Clyde headed for Kate's apartment-with no other destination intended-Joe's thoughts were racing. He watched Clyde narrowly.

"I guess San Francisco PD should have a search warrant by now," Joe said. "I guess they'll be searching Dorriss's condo- Harper said he'd call the judge early." He watched Clyde appraisingly. "Maybe they've already found the Packard."

Clyde turned to look at Joe. "We didn't come up here to look for the Packard. That is so unrealistic, to think it's in the city. We came to help Kate, to give Kate moral support. What makes you think my car would be hidden in San Francisco?"

Joe shrugged. A subtle twist of his gray shoulders, a flick of his ears. "Call it cat sense."

"What?"

"That sixth sense the authorities talk about."

"What authorities?"

"Cat authorities. People who study cats, who write about our ability to sense an earthquake before it happens, or a storm or hurricane. Same thing."

Clyde glared at him, almost missing a red light, slamming on the brakes. "What's so great about that? A weatherman can predict storms and hurricanes."

"He can't predict an earthquake. He can't feel a storm in his paws like I can."

"A weatherman doesn't have paws," Clyde shouted.

"Same with the Packard," Joe said. "I have this really strong sense that it's here in the city. And I'm not the only one. Max Harper thinks it could be at the Dorriss condo. And Captain Harper is not given to what you call foolish notions." Joe looked hard at Clyde. "It wouldn't hurt to look. We could just-"

"We can't just anything. We're here for Kate, not on some pointless chase. Not to get involved in some police investigation that is absolutely none of our business and where we'd be in the way. If there's anything the cops hate, it's civilians messing around a search, not to mention some nosy tomcat."

"Dorriss's condo has to have a garage. If Harper's right, your precious Packard could be sitting there just waiting for you." He looked intently at Clyde. "The cops get to it first and haul it away to their lockup, no telling what kind of damage they'll inflict. What do they know about classic cars? Dent a fender, break one of those windows that you had such a hard time finding…"